Thursday, February 28, 2008

How Chip Hanauer Screwed Up My One And Only Vacation

Twenty-three years into my parents' marriage they were no longer on a strict budget and could make travel arrangements any way that suited them. On the other hand, 23 years into my parents' marriage, my brother and I were 21 and 19 and no longer living at home. The house was paid for, Mom and Dad both worked full time and Dad wasn't indefinitely on disability.

That's my excuse. And you can't talk me out of it.

Twenty-three years into our marriage, Mister and I are still raising one of our children. Our house (because, unlike my parents, we have moved a couple times) isn't quite paid for yet. I only work part time and my sweet hubby has that issue with being unable to pass his company's physical standards (which are tougher than the standards for FIREMEN) so he isn't going back to work any time soon. Hence the strict budget we live on.

So when it came time to make plans for our wonderful little sojourn to Sin City, money (more accurately, the everlasting shortfall of it) was the definitive factor in where we stayed.

Hubby did all the planning while I was at work. This was no small source of frustration to him. A bogus companion airfare voucher sent to us by our airline mileage plan (followed by a We're-Sorry-For-Any-Inconvenience-However-We-Were-Just-Teasing-You-With-That-Voucher-And-Now-We're-Revoking-It letter) wasted hours of his research and patience.

By the time he finally got a package scabbed together, it came down to two choices of hotel accommodations--both at the same price:

Treasure Island

or

Circus Circus.

Exhausted and no longer able to care, Hubby made the wrong choice.

Before we left, I tried to do a little research on the hotel. Specifically, I wanted to know what amenities it offered. Nowhere on its webpage could I find any information as to comforts.

It took only two steps beyond the threshold of our room to figure out why the website didn't list any amenities: there aren't any. I don't mean that there isn't a hotel spa, or a pool, or even a coffee pot in the room. I mean there were no towels. Seriously. And, judging by the trouble it took to scrape up some linens for us, housekeeping is only staffed every other day.

Long before the not-able-to-take-a-shower-because-there's-nothing-but-toilet-paper-and-bedspreads-to-dry-off-with crisis, I could not figure out what sort of logic would cause this man who loves me to choose Circus effing Circus for our special vacation. Halfway to the airportit came to me: Hubby (ever the standard issue male) had made his choice based on loyalty to a hydroplane and its Seattle-born driver. Curse you, Chip Hanauer!!!!!

Who is 'we'? Do you mean with your family? (because I can certainly see the appeal of staying there with children) or do you mean your flight crew? As we were loading into the shuttle to head back to the airport at it's-still-the-middle-of-the-freaking-night-a.m. I was stunned to see a flight crew getting into their van. "How classy and thoughful of their company to put them up here," I thought to myself.

On the other hand, Circus effing Circus *does* have a Krispy Kreme . . .

Yes, I mean the airline. I haven't stayed in that hotel yet, we recently downgraded from the Hilton GrandVacation, but they claim to have two floors of renovated rooms for our use, including, I suspect, towels... [Hey, Cheek, is that enough commas fer ya? ;-) ]

lol, Geggie : ) Yes--you're right--it is the perfect in-a-nutshell description of my life! And did I remember to tell you how yummy the drinks were at the Bellagio? We had the most fun talking and laughing over drinks while playing the nickel slots. Thanks for the tip : )